


Now I Lay You Down to Sleep

by AnOddSock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Caning, Demon Dean Winchester, Fainting, Gen, Hog-tied, Humiliation, Hurt Sam Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Pain, Rope Bondage, Strangulation, Tied-Up Sam Winchester, Torture, bastinado, stress position
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:42:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22961866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOddSock/pseuds/AnOddSock
Summary: Waking up caught in the clutches of a demon who used to be his brother was bad enough, waking up just to be left to suffer until he passed out again was even worse.Having Crowley decide to participate was just the icing on one very fucked up cake.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 79
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Now I Lay You Down to Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Another Bad Things Happen Bingo fill, for my square "rope burns", which I wasn't going to post yet because it's more Sam whump and I wanted to spread that out but oh well, more fun for us all.
> 
> This could fit within canon, technically, but it's more a look at what might've happened if Demon!Dean won the fight with Sam at the bar and gave Sam one more chance to leave him and Crowley alone

"How long has he been like that for?" Crowley asked.

_God, go away,_ he thought. Having _anyone_ see him like this was bad enough, having the King of Hell see what his brother had reduced him to was even worse. Crowley's eyes gleamed with amusement and Sam dropped his head as far as he could and looked away.

"Three hours. Every half hour I tighten something up and watch him squirm all over again."

Three, had it really only been that long? It felt like longer. Everything had narrowed down to his body; to the points of stress on his joints, to the way he couldn't fill his lungs completely, to the numbness in his limbs, to the deep ache in his back and shoulders, to the abraded skin underneath the ropes.

"And how long do you plan on keeping him like this?"

He scowled harder but the effect was lessened by an intense round of cramps that had him screwing up his face against the agony of it.

"Until he passes out from not being able to breathe enough… or from the pain, I don't really mind which."

"And the purpose of this little exercise…?"

"Well I'm hoping," Dean shoved the toe of his boot under Sam’s chin and nudged his head up further. It hurt, and he panted through his nose as he spasmed against the position. "That waking up alone, sore, and abandoned might teach him not to come looking for me again when I've told him I don't want him to." 

Dean scraped the sole of his boot down Sam's upturned face and he grimaced as dried mud flaked off onto his skin.

"We could just kill him," Crowley said conversationally. "It's not like we need him around."

Sam panicked, and twisted, tipped onto his side and huffed as he tried again to reach knots he knew were out of reach. Dean laughed, nudged his t-shirt up with his boot and prodded at his bare stomach. Sam shivered, and groaned low in the back of his throat. He felt so vulnerable trussed up like this, and Dean knew it, and was making the most of exploiting it. Dean righted him, forced him back onto his belly and he begged wordlessy to be allowed to keel over again — it hurt even worse with his stomach on the floor.

"Shut up, Sam. You know the rules, you stay like that until you pass out."

Dean had been relentless and if he tipped, he always hauled him back upright so that he arched backwards off the floor.

"And no, we're not killing him," Dean replied to Crowley. Sam sent up a silent prayer of thanks to an unknown entity, the universe, to anyone who might be listening. "Do you want the kind of shit that might rain down on us? You know Winchesters don't stay dead and I don't think Cas would let it go either. No he stays alive, he suffers, he learns to leave. Us. Alone."

Crowley sighed. "Fine, as long as this gets you back in the mood to play ball. We have work to be getting on with you know."

Cramps flared up in his ass and thighs, and ricocheted up through his body like he was a pinball machine - ping ping ping, it hit every sore spot on its way up his spine. He gurgled around the rope in his mouth, and choked as his muscles wrenched themselves against the restraints and it tightened the cords wrapped around his throat. The rope between his teeth — pulled tight so his cheeks were spread wide enough to split his lips — got wetter and wetter and it rubbed painfully on the edges of his mouth, on the soft skin of his cheeks. His eyes watered from the strain and he sighed in resignation as the cramps stopped and he hadn't passed out.

He couldn't help the soft, whining noises that left his throat now, and couldn't keep them quiet with his lips spread apart. He was humiliated, but more than that, he was furious that Dean — demon though he was — would make him endure this. _Dammit all,_ he thought, _this_ _can't be what you are now._

Dean stroked his head and he jerked away, almost tipped over until Dean caught his arm and steadied him.

"Twenty more minutes and we can make this worse and perhaps that'll do the trick, hmm?" Dean said, like it would be soothing.

How much worse could it get? How much tighter could Dean tie him? Being hogtied for this long couldn't be good, it had to be doing untold damage, but what more was there Dean could do? It had started simply, Dean had bested him in the fight and knocked him out cold and he’d woken with his arms tied behind him with a length of rope running down to his ankles. It was hell on his injured shoulder but it wasn’t unbearable. He had fumbled for the knots, unsurprised when he couldn’t reach them and only stopped trying when Dean slapped him around the face so much that his ears rang.

It had got worse from there. First Dean had added rope between his knees and ankles until his legs were tightly bound; and then between wrists and elbows, until they were pulled flush together — and he had screamed like a banshee then, with the bright shock of pain in his shoulder. Slowly, every half an hour like clockwork, Dean had contorted his position even more.

By three hours later his ankles and wrists were practically touching, with his back bowed to an extreme arch to accommodate it, and there was a rope between his teeth and around his neck to force his head back too. The rope chaffed, rubbed his skin raw every place it dug in. Around his neck and mouth the worst as he twisted and breathed roughly against the coarse fibres, but his wrists and forearms too. He wondered how much blood there’d be, how many places it had broken the skin.

He needed this to be over, needed Dean to leave him alone. He couldn’t feel his limbs anymore, couldn’t stand the agony in his back and neck, his shoulder was an angry ball of pain that pulsed with every heartbeat. There were giant flashing arrows in his mind that pointed out the danger of the stress on his body with accuracy he couldn’t ignore. He tasted copper in his mouth as he moaned, trying to form words to make Dean listen.

“Having fun Sammy?” Dean asked, and Sam flicked his eyes sideways to see him picking at his fingernails. “Something you want to say?”

“Uuugh ooo.”  _ Fuck you. _

“I know you love me, that’s what got you into this mess. You just can’t learn to let it go, can you?”

He thrashed, a little weaker then he’d like, only his core muscles obeying his commands anymore and not without a huge amount of concentration. Maybe he’d die here. Maybe he’d never pass out, and just live in this state for the rest of his life, until his blood clotted and his heart gave up the gig. How long would Dean let him endure for, before he realised his plan wasn’t working?

“If you really want him to pass out, a little screaming might help things along,” Crowley intoned.

“What did you have in mind?”

His breath shortened as he heard a  _ swish  _ and  _ thwack _ reverberate through the air. Dean laughed, Crowley hummed appreciatively.

“Go right ahead, he’s all yours,” Dean said, and he sounded  _ eager. _

His one remaining sock was pulled free from between the ropes. He begged, wordlessly, as the scratchy tip of whatever cane Crowley had found dragged along his bare soles. He curled his toes. He tried to wriggle away, and he couldn’t help but look up into Crowley’s smug bastard face as the King Of Hell loomed over him.

“Might wanna prepare for this, I have a mean swing.” Crowley tapped his face in a parody of comfort and then he was gone and  _ no no no _ fuck  _ no! _

The first strike to his bare sole ripped a scream from him, tore skin from his wrists and ankles as he wrenched sideways to try and get away from the pain. The second made the air stick in his lungs. The third had him sobbing into the rope in his mouth, made it chafe and cut welty into his cheeks.

Crowley barely slowed down and Sam couldn’t see an end to it; had Dean just left him? Would he stop it, ever? He rocked, writhed, screamed until his throat was hoarse and scratchy; until there was no air left to breathe with let alone cry. His feet were ablaze, stripes of agony ran from toe to heel on both. He hung limply where he was bound as the rope slowly squeezed his throat shut.

“Ten, nine, eight…”

What was Dean counting? Crowley swung again and it didn’t matter. 

“Almost time for another tune up, you ready Sam?”

He heard the swish of more rope being uncoiled, felt another strike ricochet through his foot and wheezed.

“...Two, one. And that’s another half an hour folks!”

Dean’s hands were everywhere, and his eyes were squeezed closed as Dean wrapped rope around them and yanked. It forced his head so far back he wondered if his neck would snap. More wrapped around his waist and chest, pulled so tight he could barely inhale, and then down around his crotch as a hand passed two strands between his tortured legs.

He felt like a prize pig, up for slaughter. Beaten into tenderness. Trussed up for trimmings. Bleeding for the hungry.

Dean left him to struggle, and every tiny movement ripped flesh from his wrists and in the dark behind his closed eyes it was all he could focus on. It burned raw on his face, even the delicate skin of his eyelids now pressed tight with scratchy fibres. It consumed him.

It was all there was, because there wasn’t even enough  _ air. _

If there were sounds — if they laughed or insulted him, if they crowed and whooped or sat quietly to hear his every pained noise — he couldn’t tell.

His grip on reality  _ tilted. _ He swung away from the pain and humiliation towards the welcoming dark. He couldn’t breathe, not enough, the pain made him woozy and lightheaded. 

_ Inhale. _

_ Exhale. _

_ Don’t mind the burn of the rope. _

_ Don’t think about the pummeled raw skin of your feet. _

_ Inhale. _

_ Inhale! _

_ In… in… please god, air, in. _

_ Don’t die like this, not so close to Dean and unable to save him. Don’t give Crowley the satisfaction. _

_ Inhale. _

_ Blow it out. _

_ Drag it in. _

_ Dean’s right there, he won’t let… won’t let you perish. _

_ Inhale. _

_ Exhale. _

_ In ... and in… and in…  _

_ Out… only out… have to get out… _

* * *

He woke alone, at the side of a road, and wretched dryly when he slammed back into his body fully aware of every tiny inch of himself that screamed in pain.

He curled up, coughed, cradled his midriff and all the aching tender muscles there. Lifting his head from the ground to survey his surroundings was the most nauseating thing, it woke an angry dragon that breathed fiery splices of misery down his neck and shoulders.  _ Fuck _ , his shoulder. He laid the bad arm in his lap and just tried to breathe.

_ Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Move an inch, crawl forwards. Inhale, exhale, don’t pass out again. _

He used his left hand to crawl on his knees, dragged his half-numb legs behind him and headed toward a distant speck of blue. As he got closer he realised it was his rental car, parked up with the doors flung open. He stopped, laid down and bit back tears. Dean had dumped him here, just within sight of salvation but far enough away that it hurt to even get there. The demon was  _ winning _ .

No, the demon had already won. How much of Dean was left? Was this type of cruelty something Dean could dream up, was it always there, below the surface? 

He tried not to look at the blood stained welts that ran wrist to elbow and tried to breathe through his nose to avoid aggravating the raw skin around his mouth but every inhale was a painful reminder and every movement brought bright red flesh into sight.

It took him two hours to reach the car door, and a further ten minutes to drag himself upright and inside it. His phone was on the passenger seat and it rang and rang and rang. Dean’s number.

He picked up eventually, once he’d caught his breath.

“What?”

“Took you long enough Sammy. How’d you sleep?”

“Fuck off.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do, numbnuts. Are we on the same page now? You gonna leave me alone to get on with… well, I don’t suppose you can call this living can you? I’m not exactly human here.”

“Yeah I got that memo loud and clear.” He pulled down the sun visor to see himself in the tiny warped mirror on the back. His lips were cracked at the corners, the skin on either side trailed back in a swathe of bright red. Blood stained his chin where his mouth had split and it had mixed with the spit and drool and leaked from his jaw. His throat held a circle of bruised and pinched skin, rubbed down to blood vessels in places and smears of more dried blood ran down to his shirt collar.

“Did you really? Are you going to take it to heart and learn your lesson?”

Was he? Spasms wracked his body and he grit his teeth through the pain. His bare feet touched the floor and he wheezed at the sharp, breath stealing agony that fuelled his rage.  _ Crowley. _ He’d pay for this.

“I think I understand where things lie, yes,” he snapped down the phone when he could speak again.

“That’s not really the answer I was hoping for. I’ve skipped town anyway, so if you want to find me again you'll have to start this wild goose chase all over. But I warn you, next time I won’t go so easy on you.”

He opened his mouth to retort back but Dean hung up before he knew what to say. This was  _ easy? _ This was Dean being lenient? He yelled in rage and pummeled the steering wheel. His entire body was on fire but every second he sat here Dean got further away.

He cried out his frustration at the pain and helplessness of everything and then laid the driver’s seat as flat as it could go and gingerly curled his bruised and battered feet up so he could lay down, wincing as the thin broken skin on his ankles brushed the rough polyester seat. He’d have to wait this one out, he couldn’t drive like this.

He could call Cas… but Cas was in no real shape to help. Maybe a tow truck? Although how he’d explain the state he was in he didn’t know.

He needed sleep first, but then what?

Then he’d have to fix his brother another day, just as soon as he fixed himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy hurt!Sam appreciation day, which in my world is every day! I hope you enjoyed, comments and kudos always welcome.
> 
> Shout out to my dear friend Catasaurus for captioning this the Winchester version of "go the fuck to sleep" 😂


End file.
